


To Leave That Place

by rubyrubio



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Can you tell which episode I watched?, Dean in Hell, F/M, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, JUST, Just die reading this, One Shot, POV Sam Winchester, Sam's POV, Season 3 Finale, Tears, What went through Sam's head, angst sam, angsty angsty, drop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4831535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyrubio/pseuds/rubyrubio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You were gone.. I was here." </p><p>Sam trying to deal with Dean being dead for the first time. The four months up here can definitely compare to the forty in the basement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Leave That Place

**Author's Note:**

> To really set the mood listen to Set Free by Katie Gray: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvDugNh-6U0 and Floating/Sinking by Peter Broderick: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Socs8uiNldo

"No... No..." It was impossible to stop the tears that began to drip down his face, splattering against Dean's chest. Or at least, what was left. 

Pulling Dean's blank face into his lap, he crouched around him and cried, sobbing and making the most pitiful noises. Squeezing Dean's lifeless hand, trying to get some type of reaction out of his brother. But there was nothing. Not even a slight twitch. Blood stained his dirty jeans, slippery and red and  _everywhere_ as he tried to cling to what he had left of Dean. But it wasn't anything much at all.

Because Dean had light, he had hope. He had a smirk that made even  _him_ blush sometimes. Like Dean knew something he didn't. Which he probably even did. The way he carried his weight like it wasn't anything, that he could burden Sam's as well. Dean had flirtations and revelations and annoying music and he laughs over his own jokes and eats like a horse and stares endlessly at the stars sipping on beer as if those kinds of nights were made for him and he missed it he missed it. 

Because now none of that existed on this level. It won't ever again, all because he was some type of freak for some demon war and he somehow wished that he wasn't born, that there wasn't ever a reason for him to be born. Dean was dead, and nothing would ever change that fact. 

After some time, when Sam felt the shivers wrap around his spine and snot trickling down his chin, he lifted Dean up by his knees and shoulders and cradled his body to his chest. It felt wrong, it felt cruel. The only reason he would ever have to carry Dean like this, and it was happening. He was alive to do it. 

Bobby was waiting by the car, disbelief and sorrow written all over his face. "Sam-."

"Don't, don't-" His voice cracked, another wave of hollow, emptiness going over him. "Let's just get him home." But where was home now? He thought to himself as he lay Dean's body, limp and sluggish into the backseat. The amulet fell off to the side, dangling from his neck and onto the seat. It looked too broken, so wrong. He felt defeated, empty. Nothing would ever be the same now. 

Bobby got in his own car, and Sam shakily got into the Impala, turning on the engine. A hiccup fell out of his throat, and he looked at the passenger seat with such despair. He debated making Dean seem asleep, quiet in the front. But the blood, oh  _so much blood,_ and it wasn't enough. He wouldn't hear Dean snoring, or seeing him try to turn up music louder to annoy him. Burger Wrappers wouldn't be shoved into the compartment, no onion breath, no kisses to the steering wheel,  _nothing._ It hurt how much of everything was missing. Because none of those things would be warmth with Dean dead. 

Half way through the drive, he swerved to the side of the road and pulled over, shutting off baby and bending over. Heaving and choking on Dean's rotting smell. There was no where to get away from it. His empty eyes, his shredded chest. He looked around, seeing the open area and began running into the empty field. The sky was clear, and all the stars twinkled. Eyes too sore to make out constellations, he simply laid down under the cold air and let the world take him. He allowed himself to be vulnerable, to be crying so openly and loud. He imagined that this is what a peaceful death would be, to die under beauty, under thousands upon millions of stars. 

He remembers the first time he ever did this. He was nine years old, and Dean was telling him to be quiet, that he should be silent while admiring something so unique. He never understood the point in just  _listening._ But Sam did now. 

It was awhile before his head turned from screaming pain to a dull throb, his limbs aching, his throat raw. There was nothing but grass rustling and his breathing ragged and his heart thumping thumping thumping. Maybe if he tilted his head back the ground would swallow him, maybe the demons would find him and bring him alongside his brother. Anything would be better than the hollowness and the pain shivering up his spine, tears trembling off his lips. 

He stays for a few minutes, before standing up and walking back to the impala. With his shoulders sagging the way they are, he feels eighteen all over again, his father telling him to never walk back. Except this time there's no hope that things will get better. Because there is no brother who hugs him tightly before he leaves on a bus to Palo Alto. There is no drunken message telling him that he's still 'Sammy'. He won't wake up tomorrow morning rolling his eyes and grinning when he hears the faint sound of a motor. 

The rest of the ride he cranks up shitty country music, hoping Dean will sit up and tell him to turn it off. He keeps his face stoic of emotion, and speeds up to meet Bobby in his junkyard. He doesn't want to burn Dean. And he's pretty sure that he's so broken that Bobby would just about do anything for him. Because without some type of presence of  _Dean..._ How good could the world turn out? 

 

\---

 

They're building the pine box, Dean's body covered by a sheet, and he's made sure to make it seem like car parts are underneath. He makes sure to keep the box tight, big enough for Dean's frame. Bobby is inside drinking, making chili to give along for lunch. But Sam isn't hungry. His craving can't be fixed with anything of taste. Lilith's head on a plate, though. That would surely give him some satisfaction. She's going to regret ever messing with him, for holding onto Dean's contract. The way Yellow Eyes was taken down, she shall too. 

He is suddenly reminded of the demon blood that coaxes through his veins, and wonders if that's why he feels so murderous. If that's why he isn't feeling any mercy. But Lilith is a demon,  _vermin._ She's nothing but something he could pick off his shoe. 

Bobby doesn't comment when he pushes around the beans in his chili, sliding the bowl away. Nor does he make a sound as they lift Dean's body into the coffin, into the truck. The ride is silent, and Sam looks for something hidden, somewhere that could be Dean. It's a long drive, but eventually they're in Pontiac, Illinois. They're a couple miles into a woodsy area when they suddenly halt, pulling over and taking out the coffin. Sam makes sure to keep himself emotionless, as well as Bobby. 

They walk a several yards in, until there is a small open field. It is peaceful, with bugs flying and the sun seeping through every branch and leaf. Sam gets to work, digging a hole, while Bobby runs back to get the 'headstone' they made to accompany it. He clutches the amulet to his chest after a couple minutes of work, trying to regain some posture. This is too much. And he sometimes wonders if he would still be here, if Dean would still have made this route to death. Could he have lived longer, if Sam never went to Stanford? If Jessica wasn't his reason to search for their dad? 

He should have killed Jake, he should have let Ruby help him. He should have been quick enough to avoid that rusty knife. He should have he should have he should have done all these things. And now his brother is dead. Who would he turn to now? Bobby was here, but he didn't flirt with the waitress or the bartender or watch porn so disgustingly in sight. He could hug Sam, but he couldn't bring much warmth. He could allow Sam to cry, but could he bring him the justice he needed? Could he ever be the support Dean was for him? 

Guilt weighed down on him, how much he depended on Dean. His physical and emotional bodyguard, all his life. And he allowed him to take all of the bullets, all of the words. 

Dean is now four feet underground, and Sam sprinkles a little bit of whiskey over the pulled up dirt. Dean's amulet doesn't seem to brighten his soul, only bring it down. Like it's trying to bring Sam down into Hell along with him. And he can feel it, he can feel as if he's supposed to be down there instead. After all, Dean was not corrupt, nor evil nor wrong. He was like the sun, burning bright and showing everyone what he was capable of. 

But what can possibly be right about this, him walking away from his brother, his savior. 

 

It has been three months, and he's on the verge of throwing up all the blood he choked down. He's no closer to finding Lilith, and Ruby seems to push him further and further into drinking more. As if he would be better actually not being  _human._ He wonders if he could actually become emerged so deep within it that he'd be demonic himself. Maybe the plan was to free Dean himself. Not a crossroads demon, or any demon there of. But  _Sam._ Sam could be the hero once in his short life. He wouldn't just be the kid that ran into burning buildings to help wounded people, but a man. He would be everything that could make Dean proud.  _  
_

Maybe, if he were to save Dean, then it wouldn't matter if the things he did was vile. Because he did it out of love, out of selflessness. Nothing could change that.

"Let's better hope that gallon will last you awhile. But first we need more practice." Ruby was setting up the table for another summoning. They had already gone through a couple demons tonight, sending them back into the depths of Hell. With each passing one, they gave Sam a grin. Like they knew his brother was being tortured for eternity. That they were going to join in. It took everything in him not to just stab them to death. 

He's seen enough black smoke now to last him a lifetime, he thinks. 

 

The next week they're simply laying low, after a few of Lilith's men tracked them down and tried to slaughter them. It's an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere. They're laying side by side, sweating. The sheets are as nasty as any motel rooms, and he keeps thinking about how this is purely for work. He can't love Ruby. He can't love this  _thing_ that has at least killed plenty more than he has. But her skin is soft, and he can't seem to smell sulfur as bad as he used to. It's almost as if at times, she's like him. 

Ruby is staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. Her chest is barely moving, like she wasn't just screwing him a few minutes ago. He doesn't feel the need to touch her or be close. But there is this sense of being drawn to her. Maybe it's because her blood runs in his veins, that he's turning into her little bitch. 

But he's too far in now to stop. 

Because now this isn't just about avenging Dean's death, but living just as strongly as the title "Dean Winchester." He hears it in the whispers of bars, where hunters collectively gather now that the Roadhouse is gone. Even monsters of the night shudder hearing that name. 

He just needs to be strong, for once in his life. 

 

Dean is at the door to his motel room, and his heart stops. Breath catching in his throat, looking for any signs that this is an illusion. That his mind is playing tricks on him again. Ruby looks just as shocked as he is, and something flashes across her face so fast that he didn't have time to figure out what it meant. 

Now Dean is walking into the room, "Heya Sammy," all smiles and freckles and light and  _fuck-_ everything that has been missing in his life. Four months. Four months he has gone without this, and it feels like it's been years. He can't think of anything better than this moment. 

But then he remembers that he never burned Dean, and that he in no way made a deal.  _Those fucking demon bastards._ And he lunges at him with the knife in his pocket. Ruby shrieks, playing in character. Bobby is holding him back, telling him that he already tested everything.  _  
_

It's really him.

There's a moment of silence before collusion happens, and he's tugging Dean's shirt and clinging his dirty nails into his back and shoving himself so far deep into the hug that he is lost. Dean seems to be just as wandered, and he bets that they could do this all day if not for the audience. 

But they're not ones for gooey sappiness, and they pull away from each other. Dean's eyes aren't as green as he remembers, but they're enough. He's always enough, because he's here smiling and showing him that he's okay. That they're okay. 

He doesn't pay attention to Ruby as they part ways, as she pretend her name is Cathy or some bullshit, he doesn't particularly feel guilty for not having selling his soul for Dean, not as much anyway. But there is a pang, he didn't save Dean like he was supposed to. He didn't get his grand ending prize the way he was supposed to. Because now the poison is thrumming in his system, sharp and clear. There is no excuse now. There is no way he could bring up the fact that he is destroying himself for the sake of killing Lilith. Because Dean wouldn't ever see the logic in that. 

And he has no way of ever returning back to normal. 

He remembers the amulet, in it's pure, golden form. He pulls it off himself, in self-hatred. He hands it to Dean, the person it belongs to. The only person it should belong to. And it is so much better to look at on his brother. As it always has. Sam has to think, that although he is no longer good, at least he has given good, once upon a time. That he helped put together his hero's costume. 

And he falls away. 


End file.
